


Confessions and Confidences

by plutonianshores



Series: No Sweeter Agony [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (Until it's not), M/M, Mentions of past sexual assault, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4562073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/pseuds/plutonianshores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras had been determined not to let his relationship with Combeferre affect the ABC. The rest of their friends needn’t know about this, he thought, and Combeferre seemed to agree (or at least, he didn’t argue). </p><p>Looking back, he should have known better than to think he could keep this a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions and Confidences

Grantaire, for all his faults, was very observant; he was the first to notice. Despite his resolve, Enjolras couldn’t keep himself entirely from gazing at Combeferre during meetings, and one night, Grantaire caught him at it. He met Enjolras’s eye with a suggestive wink, but said nothing.

Enjolras cornered him outside when their meeting adjourned. “How long have you known?”

Infuriatingly, Grantaire only laughed. “You seem surprised that I’ve figured it out. I _do_ pay attention on occasion, and what sort of man would I be if I missed this momentous occasion? Our Artemis, not only tolerating the roaming eye of her Actaeon, but clutching him to her breast. I never would have guessed when I first laid eyes upon this finely-sculpted god that he might fall prey to the oh-so-mortal whims of love.”

There was nothing to do with him when he got into this state, so Enjolras replied, “I hope you don’t think me as tyrannical as that. I wouldn’t set the hounds on a man for a stray glance. Inane drunken ramblings, however…”

His speech had trod into dangerous territory, and Grantaire’s relief as Enjolras steered the topic to safer ground was palpable. “Ah, take pity on a lowly man! I only wanted to tell you that your secret is safe with me.

“I’d prefer it safe with _me_ , and out of your hands entirely.”

“Then you shouldn’t have been so reckless with your glances, my friend. A blind man could see the way you’ve been looking at Combeferre, although it might take a fairly astute one to place it as _eros_ rather than mistake it for _philia_.”

“Given that you waited until after the others have departed, I’m sure you understand that I want this kept strictly to yourself.”

Grantaire bowed. “At your service, my strong-voiced leader. You need not fear disclosure nor judgment on my part. I know that you think me a monster with a shamefully loose tongue, but I take and have been taken in turn, and I do honor the virtue of discretion on occasion. I will of course heed it in your case, but you might want to learn to do the same.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Enjolras said tersely, taking his leave. Despite himself, his irritation quickly faded—this conversation had once again taken on a desperate tone, like Grantaire was trying to slice himself open and bare his soul as payment for the details Enjolras had revealed to him. Grantaire had never been one to hide his flaws, but since their conversation about the aphrodisiac, his comments had grown ever more personal. He would surely stop if Enjolras asked, but Enjolras saw no need. If he felt he had something to atone for, let him. The confessions seemed to make him happier, and who was Enjolras to begrudge a man his happiness?

 

It was his own fault that Prouvaire found out, really. Jehan had taken longer than the rest to return to his former treatment of Enjolras, and even now handled him more gingerly than Enjolras would prefer. As such, when Prouvaire pulled him aside after a meeting, Enjolras feared the worst. He must have seen the flash of panic that had crossed Enjolras’s face when the topic turned to a neighboring group’s recent confrontation with the National Guard, or the way he’d frozen when Courfeyrac was jostled into him.

Instead, Prouvaire bit his lip, looking resolutely at the ground. “You know, I think, that I have interests in the bedroom that some might deem perverse. That is, I…most of my lovers have been men.”

“I did, yes.” He wasn’t sure how he could have avoided knowing—Prouvaire had introduced several of these lovers to the ABC as “dear friends”, and spent the night making eyes at them or occasionally groping them in the corner.

“And the group has never looked at us any differently than, say, Joly and Musichetta, or Bahorel and that grisette he met at the tailor’s.”

“Of course not,” Enjolras said, puzzled at the blush spreading across Prouvaire’s face. “You’re our friend.”

“So if you were to meet a man, I hope you’d feel comfortable confiding in us—in me, especially.”

Now that he’d seen the path of the conversation, it was too late to extricate himself. Enjolras sighed and said, “Of course I’d trust you with the knowledge, Jehan. But I thought that I’d spare you the confession, as you’ve seen so much of my personal life already.”

“Oh, but this is nothing like _that_!” Prouvaire took Enjolras’s hand in his. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, finding someone to share yourself with.”

His smile shone so brightly that Enjolras couldn’t keep the next sentence from slipping out. “I’ve found someone, yes.”

His grin widened at that. “I would love to meet him! As, I’m sure, would the rest of our friends.”

“I’m not certain that would be a good idea.” Enjolras couldn’t reason away the terror that flooded him at the thought of everyone looking at he and Combeferre and _knowing_ what they were to each other—and surely it wouldn’t take long for the knowledge to spread from Prouvaire to the rest of the ABC, and then to various acquaintances, until their relationship was common knowledge. He’d had too much of himself bared to the world already; better to keep this to himself.

“Is he not aware of our political activities?” Enjolras could see the exact moment that Prouvaire snatched up some fantasy of his lover: his eyes went wide, and he leaned in closer. “Oh, is he a royalist? I suppose you must have kept quiet about politics when you first met, and are trying to bring him around slowly.” He wrinkled his brow, undoubtedly trying to imagine what Enjolras would even talk about if not politics. Enjolras began to laugh, remembering the moment last night when Combeferre had taken his lips from his chest to tell him about the fascinating essay on suffrage that he’d just recalled.

“We talk plenty of politics.” Watching Jehan’s puzzled smile, it seemed foolish that Enjolras had ever been frightened of telling him. “And Combeferre would be quite offended to hear you presume him a royalist.”

“Combe—oh!” Prouvaire leaned forward to embrace him, then seemed to remember at the last moment who he was talking to. “May I?”

Enjolras nodded his assent, and Prouvaire swept him into a hug, lifting him off his feet for a moment. “I’m so pleased, for both of you.”

“I’d rather you keep this between us.”

He hugged Enjolras again. “Of course.”

 

Enjolras knew after that that he had no chance of keeping this a secret. It was only a matter of who would find out next—as it turned out, Courfeyrac. At least this time it could be blamed on Combeferre rather than Enjolras himself.

Between classes and politics, Enjolras and Combeferre didn’t have much time to themselves. They took advantage of every moment they could, which was how they came to be kissing against the parlor wall when Courfeyrac burst through the door.

“Combeferre, are you—oh. Hello, Enjolras.”

He seemed determined to forget what he’d seen, but Enjolras was equally determined to discuss this with him. After a quick glance and a squeeze of the hand to determine that Combeferre agreed, Enjolras smoothed his jacket, stood up, and began to speak.

“Courfeyrac, I know this must come as a shock, but I suppose it’s not worth trying to keep the secret from you any longer. Combeferre and I have been romantically involved for some time now. We’re both doing our damndest to make sure it doesn’t affect political matters, so you don’t have to worry on that account.”

Courfeyrac began to laugh. “It’s not the relationship I’m upset about. Were you truly planning on keeping this from everyone?”

“I think you’ve seen enough of my personal matters already.” Enjolras hadn’t meant for that to sound so harsh, and it hurt to see Courfeyrac frown on his account.

“I’m glad to know,” Courfeyrac said quietly. “And I’m happy that you’ve found each other, truly.”

Enjolras left Combeferre and Courfeyrac to discuss their plans, but he couldn’t forget their conversation. Judging by Combeferre’s reaction when Enjolras brought it up that night, he’d put it straight out of mind.

“Do you think we ought to tell them?”

“Hmm?” Combeferre glanced at Enjolras, confused.

“Our friends. Should we tell them, about our relationship?”

Combeferre took Enjolras’s hand in his. “I think we should do whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

It was true, what Courfeyrac had said, that he was nothing but happy for the two of them. Enjolras suspected the rest of their friends would have similar reactions. But what he’d told Prouvaire, that this felt entirely too personal to share, was also true. They’d been forced to witness so much already, and he’d like to keep some semblance of privacy. “I don’t want you to feel as if I’m ashamed of you, or forcing you to keep this a secret.”

“Of course not.” Combeferre drew him closer. “If you’d rather keep this quiet, that’s perfectly fine.”

“At the rate we’ve been going,” Enjolras laughed, “it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to keep it a secret for much longer anyway.” Perhaps that would be easier, letting the rest discover their relationship by accident.

 

Joly and Bossuet found out together, as in all other things. As a rule, Enjolras and Combeferre kept their displays of affection to the privacy of their rooms, but with the way Combeferre bit at his lip when he was thinking was more than Enjolras could bear sometimes. One night, after a meeting, he tugged Combeferre into a broom closet and thrust him up against the wall. He pressed back against Enjolras, letting out a very gratifying moan.

“If you keep at it,” Combeferre gasped, “I’m going to spend in my trousers.”

Enjolras nipped at his ear. “Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?” Just as he moved his hand lower, hoping to speed the process along, the door clattered open. Two all-too-familiar people tumbled in, just as tangled up in each other as Enjolras and Combeferre.

“I’m sorry!” Joly stammered, his words overlapping with Enjolras’s own apology. Bossuet gently shut the door and muttered, “Just my luck,” and Combeferre smiled sheepishly and backed into the corner to make room, knocking over a bucket in the process.

“I can’t apologize enough,” Joly said again, smoothing out his shirt. “If we’d known, we would have found another—”

“Another broom closet?” Combeferre laughed. “It was just bad luck, my friend.”

“I had no idea you two were…involved.” Joly’s words sent a familiar splinter of panic through Enjolras despite himself. Even knowing the foolishness of his worry, he couldn’t suppress it. Neither Joly nor Bossuet would endanger him, he knew, and they’d already begun to look happy at the revelation as they recovered from the shock. In any case, he might have said the same thing had Joly not spoken first. Enjolras had known, of course, that the two men were the closest of friends, but he would never have guessed that their relationship had a romantic element.

“We’re trying to keep it quiet,” Combeferre said.

“Of course,” Joly replied, with Bossuet nodding in agreement. “We’ll keep our silence.” They all shuffled out of the closet, flushed and in various states of disarray, and hurried to their respective homes.

“It wasn’t too much of a shock, them falling in on us?” Combeferre asked once they’d reached their rooms, laying a hand on Enjolras’s arm.

“Oh, it wasn’t the interruption as such—Joly and Bossuet’s entanglement rather surprised me.”

In his defense, Combeferre tried to hold back his laugh. His face went red, and he let out a rather undignified snort, and only after that did he begin to guffaw. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not sure how one could spend any time around the two of them without noticing the nature of their relationship. Of course, you’ve always been oblivious to things like that.”

He felt he should take offense to that. “I’m not entirely unaware of our friends’…proclivities, you know.” When Combeferre raised an eyebrow, Enjolras continued. “That artist of Prouvaire’s last September, for example, with the long hair and the garishly bright cravats. I knew about them.”

“Our dear Jehan couldn’t keep from waxing poetic over his beau for more than five minutes, so that’s hardly a surprise.”

Enjolras sighed. “Am I really so unobservant? Am I to assume that _everyone_ has divined the nature of our relationship?”

Combeferre took his hand, smiling. “I think our friends only want to see you happy, and if they _have_ guessed, it’s nothing to be afraid of.”

His peculiar tone of voice nearly drew Enjolras to ask if he’d like to share this with the rest of the ABC, but he knew what Combeferre’s answer would be. _I want whatever you’re comfortable with, Enjolras._ Combeferre had never once let slip a hint of what he himself wanted. It was some consolation that the question likely wouldn’t matter much longer, but he wasn’t sure he could bear the wait for the last few to find out, all the while wondering if he was doing the right thing.

 

Bahorel handled the news with typical bellicosity. Where he’d found out Enjolras couldn’t begin to guess, especially since he seemed to have no idea who the other man was.

He pulled Enjolras aside after a meeting. “I noticed that you’ve taken a lover.”

“Was it Prouvaire who told you,” Enjolras asked, “or Joly? I’m not sure what sort of secret society I’m leading, if its members can’t even keep something like this from their friends.”

Bahorel wrinkled his brow. “Neither. You have the unmistakable air of a man in love, my friend. You told Prouvaire and Joly?”

“They guessed at it as well,” Enjolras sighed. “It seems I’m not nearly as skilled at keeping my emotions hidden as I’d imagined.”

“It’s no matter, my friend.” Bahorel slapped him on the shoulder. “Although you might want to pass on a word of warning to this man of yours.”

“And what would that be?”

He grinned. “He had better take the utmost care with you, or I’ll find him and make him regret how he’s hurt you.”

Enjolras laughed despite himself. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“On the contrary. I would hate to strike a man unawares, and of course it’s my duty to protect my friends.”

At that moment, the secret didn’t seem worth the effort anymore. “Well, the man in question is also a friend of yours, so you may find yourself in a bit of a conundrum.”

“Is he, now?” _That_ put a look of shock onto his face, Enjolras noted with satisfaction. He hadn’t been as poor at secret-keeping as he’d thought.

“Combeferre.”

Bahorel’s smile grew wider. “I’ll have to warn you as well, then—break our dear Combeferre’s heart, and I shall be forced to give you a lecture you’ll never forget. You know how I hate to invoke my schooling, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from law, it’s how to give a fierce tongue-lashing.”

“I’m sure,” Enjolras laughed. “And here’s a moment I thought I’d never see: Monsieur Bahorel, laying claim to the title of lawyer at last!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “I’ve merely learned a bit from classes.”

“Whatever you say.”

They said their goodbyes, and Enjolras returned home to Combeferre. “It seems the majority of the ABC has discovered our relationship.”

“Oh?” Combeferre’s face returned to a careful blank expression quickly enough, but Enjolras caught the relief before it was wiped away.

“Bahorel pulled me aside after the meeting today. He threatened to beat my lover should he ever hurt me, and I felt obligated to divulge your identity to save you from a fight with him.”

“That was probably for the best,” Combeferre laughed.

“You know you don’t have to protect me,” Enjolras said. “Or at least, I should protect you as well.”

Combeferre looked away. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

 

Feuilly, Enjolras told himself, as he needed advice. Besides that, it seemed a betrayal not to tell the truth to the man who’d confessed so much to him.

They met for breakfast, both of them being naturally early risers. “You’ve heard the news, I’m sure,” Enjolras said over his mug of coffee.

“I haven’t heard anything, Enjolras, I’ve been trapped in the studio these past few weeks. I’ve barely had time to sleep, much less think, but I need the money so I suppose I can’t complain.”

“Ah. Well.” He felt less guilty now that he was assured that Feuilly would find out from him. “You mentioned earlier, just after the attack, that I could confide in you if I wished. Does that offer still stand?”

“Of course.” Feuilly frowned, suddenly looking quite the mother hen. “You’re all right?”

“Oh, I’m quite well, but I’ve been having a few problems with…” He gestured vaguely, trying to find the words to explain. “With a man I’ve become involved with. You understand me?”

Feuilly nodded, and to Enjolras’s relief, didn’t ask who that man might be. “He hasn’t listened to you.”

“I’ve _told_ him, you know, that I care about him and I want him to be happy, but…I’m not sure he takes me at my word.”

He frowned. “He shouldn’t need you to prove that, especially given what you’ve been through. You might try telling him that.”

It took a moment for Enjolras to make sense of Feuilly’s words. “Oh, I…I’m afraid I might have made an ass of myself, and given you entirely the wrong impression. My worry is that I’ve been pressuring _him_. We have several mutual friends, and I think he’s uncomfortable keeping our relationship from them. But he insists he only wants me to be happy when I’ve asked him about it. I don’t want to force him into hiding.” He sighed. “And I feel horrible complaining of a too-generous lover, but I worry about him.”

“Ah.” He smiled, more warmly than Enjolras had expected. “Tell him _that_ , then, just like you’ve told me.”

“I’ve tried. He won’t listen.”

“Then make him! I’ve heard your speeches, Enjolras; you can make him hear you.”

“I can’t even begin to thank you for this.” He slid his chair around the tableside, then laid a hand on Feuilly’s shoulder. “You’ve been indispensable during my recovery, and I’m proud to call you a friend.”

Feuilly embraced him, nearly tugging him off the chair. Enjolras pretended not to notice the wet spots his eyes had made on Enjolras’s coat.

“And of course, you’re welcome to visit any time you find yourself free.” He’d never taken Enjolras up on his offer, but perhaps there was hope yet. His thoughtful smile certainly seemed to suggest that there was.

“I’ll consider it.”

 

Combeferre was in bed reading when Enjolras arrived at the apartment, squinting at the page in the fading light.

“You could light a candle you know.”

He looked up, startled. “It wasn’t dark when I began.”

“You ought to pay more attention; you’ll go blind, and I don’t have time to read articles to you.” Enjolras sat down beside him. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Might I persuade you to set your reading aside?”

“You’re far more interesting than disturbances in the earth’s magnetism, don’t worry.” He set the paper aside, turning to face Enjolras. “Is something the matter?”

“Not with me, no. I’ve been worried about you lately. You know, don’t you, that your happiness is important to me?”

“I’d never doubt it.”

“And you know you don’t need to sacrifice your desires to make me more comfortable?”

Combeferre looked at him, puzzled. “I haven’t—”

“We could have told our friends about our relationship, if you’d wanted. I know the secrecy weighed on you.” Enjolras leaned against him. “I don’t want you to feel bound by my needs, and I promise you, I won’t tell you something’s all right when it isn’t.”

“I might have liked to tell them, I suppose,” he conceded. “But I’ve gathered we’re past that point now.”

“You’ll tell me in the future if something I do bothers you?”

He kissed the top of Enjolras’s head. “Of course.”

“I love you,” Enjolras murmured, curling closer to him as the weight of the day hit him all at once. He ought to work on the speech he was planning, or read the essay he’d been meaning to all week, but perhaps he’d just lie here for a while…

“You don’t want to put your nightclothes on?”

He only managed a vague mumble of dissent in response. As he drifted off, he heard the crinkling of Combeferre’s reading, and felt the paper brush his cheek as an arm came to rest on his shoulder. He wouldn’t be surprised, he thought, to wake up and find Combeferre slumped over him, article in hand. He really ought to encourage Combeferre to go to sleep as well, but he was entirely too comfortable to move. Tomorrow they’d discuss his frankly unhealthy sleep habits. Tonight, Enjolras would sleep, pleasantly warm and wrapped in Combeferre’s arms.


End file.
